She lies waiting for me in rest,
Having been poisoned with venom.
Opening the lid, I free the
Claustrophobic air from plenum.
Her face utopic paradise,
Her skin is peachy and creamy.
If what we think about shows through,
Then her thoughts have e’er been dreamy.
She doesn’t feel violated
Any more than Sleeping Beauty
Or Snow White did in their repose,
For love’s first kiss is my duty.
I lean in to awaken her,
My lips approach a treasured bliss.
She will never be prepared for
The intensity of my kiss.
But this doesn’t rouse this beauty,
Who under a spell is sleeping.
As I look on her helpless form,
I can scarcely keep from weeping.
I caress her face and play with
Her angelic and golden strands.
Sadly, she will not arise at
The touch of my mortician hands.
Death
Minervosa
I was smitten with you as a child,
Though I called you a mugrosa.
You shouldn’t have believed me when
I called you a vain mocosa,
For that’s the way boys show their love.
But you were e’er nerviosa.
As we and my love for you grew,
I stopped calling you mucosa.
Indeed I’d discovered you were
A young lady virtuosa.
But spite the waxing of my love,
Something’d made you nerviosa.
You ignored all my advances.
You remained respetuosa.
I was never sure if you were
E’en remotely amorosa.
In hindsight I see ’twas because
You were always nerviosa.
You were ne’er happy with your looks,
Though you were maravillosa.
You thought that you were overweight;
I thought you were gloriosa.
You believed not a word I said;
You were e’er too nerviosa.
I never saw you eat enough
To feed a flowering rosa.
You were deceived, ’tis obvious,
For you were voluptuosa.
But still you were not satisfied
With your self, my nerviosa.
I praised your beauty, for you were
In every way asombrosa.
In all the creations seen, you
Were by far the most hermosa.
You never heard my praises, since
You were always nerviosa.
I gave you all the love I had;
Nothing could make you gozosa.
Your soul was withering away,
And Fate became exitosa.
I could see the end this would cause,
But you were too nerviosa.
I stayed by your bedside each day;
You were still my mariposa.
You never smiled; my company
Was a pitiful limosna.
You ignored my confessions, for
You were always nerviosa.
Your stomach grew together, and
Hunger made you dolorosa.
But still you wouldn’t eat, and to
Watch you languish was penosa.
I held the hand that you thought fat
Because you were nerviosa.
I prayed that something could save you,
Since to me you’re milagrosa.
But each day found you more listless,
And Death found you perezosa.
I wondered if you made Death fret,
Since you were e’er nerviosa.
“No sabes cuanto quise que
Fueses me cara esposa.”
I whisper to your rotting bones
‘Neath the flowering mimosa.
Why did you make yourself die of
Anorexia nervosa?
The Rock of Gibberish Altar
I burnished my armour till my fingers were sore,
And girding it on, the gods I did implore.
Confident that I could neither fail nor falter,
Much like the Moors in the Rock of Gibraltar,
I sallied-forth from my keep a maiden to woo,
And with each plodding hoof-beat, my love only grew.
I thought of her virtues that so oft were extolled,
And occasionally my heart I had to scold
For thinking what’s unbecoming of chivalry.
Through forests I ventured and down by the sea.
Scarcely did I notice—my mind was a whirl.
Oh, the things that one will do just to get a girl!
I never considered the peasants I knew,
After all, they’re hackneyed like the town where I grew.
Now after for riding for a weary week,
Quite certain that my strength had sprung a leak—
For I scarcely stopped to eat or to sleep,
And even my horse had started to weep
Like a useless vow—the chateau came into view;
And with reckless abandon toward it I flew.
But no heralds or trumpets sounded my approach;
Vaguely I saw that darkness the land did encroach.
But rather than use prudence and turn away,
I pursued my course to that chateau cold and gray.
How is it that the moat and drawbridge did greet
Me alone? No sentry stood at guard on his feet.
If I had listened to reason, instead of pride,
I would have never planted a cursed foot inside.
But my ambition for my fair lady proved strong,
And I found that my feet carried me right along.
Lying on the altar at the foot of the stair,
I saw that my maiden didn’t have any hair.
I rationalized myself to this thinking that
If she went out in public, she could wear a hat.
I bent down to give her a passionate kissing,
And that’s when I realized all teeth her were missing.
But before I could shrink back in harrowed dismay,
Her eyelids flipped open and she pulled me her way.
Her stench seeped into me like moldy osmosis;
She rudely exposed me to her halitosis.
My, how my first kiss was a brutal disaster!
Our union’d fail if built on such a pilaster.
Releasing me, she stared—and one eye was lazy.
I began to wonder then if I were crazy
To have disavowed the damsels of my home town
For this? But now the portcullis was coming down,
And, kicking and screaming, I had to drag her out.
Ladies should never throw temper tantrums or pout
Because they’re being rescued by a gallant knight.
Yet on exiting, I saw the cause of her fright.
A pitch wyrm had just swallowed my steed with a slurp,
And it turned to her screaming with a fiery burp.
Though I told her, “Don’t panic,” she seemed quite afraid.
I ran at it and hacked at its head with my blade.
I thought that it laughed as its blood rusted my sword,
As I punctured a scale, time seemed in fast forward.
The wyrm roared like the last blast from a cannonade,
Pouncing as I impaled his gnarled head on my blade.
My heirloom, this sword, snapped in two as did his pate,
Brimstone billowed forward. I moved, but was too late.
As my hair shriveled and my skin did crisp,
My damsel came near, talking with a lisp.
A mist gathered as she did ensorcell,
The sunlight perished as she worked her spell.
My spirit was nigh to leave the planet
As she made me bite a pomegranate.
As the wave of anguish started to ebb,
I felt like a fly in her spider’s web.
The realization raised my hackles:
No princess could make such ghastly cackles.
The bite that she took made my heart falter,
For she’d married us at Hades’ altar.
“I’ll call you my pet, even if you mind.
Why is it, you ask, that you didn’t find
The princess you’d heard of lying in bed?
How could it be that you found me instead?
It’s simple really, she is my sister,
And she took pity on me, a spinster.
In my mirror we watched your approach,
And she traded you for my hen claw broach.
You’re much too handsome for her, for she’s seen
The stunning oft are self-centered and mean.
The gallant are all ruled by empty mores
Who love naught but the fame of their forays.
They think that, until they burst down their doors,
Princesses lay sleeping getting bed sores.
They come thinking true love can break the spell,
With less sense than an empty wishing well.
How can you love someone you never knew?
Are attraction and glory love to you?
And though she’s developed an apathy
To love, she does not live in misery.
She couldn’t dwell with an ignoramus.
Because they can’t get her, she’s now famous.
She asked me to guard her here to escape
The wooing of many a jackanape.
The dragon we summon most of the time
To rid ourselves of the vermin and slime.”
Just then the dragon’s corpse started to rise,
And she could sense the sheer dread in my eyes,
For I had no blade with which to combat.
Calmly she told me, “Don’t worry ’bout that.”
Her snapping fingers petrified the beast,
Until the next time they’d need him, at least.
“I was overjoyed to have made the switch.
It’s not often a knight weds with a witch.
So that you know, I am still a princess,
Just one none would marry without duress.
Despite the rumors, I am rather sweet;
I would gnaw the warts right off of your feet.”
“Charming,” I thought ruefully of my bride.
Then, she led me to her chambers inside.
“I know this is hard; to help you withstand
This night I’ll slip into something more grand.”
I saw her glow as she did imprecate,
Changing form so that we might consummate
The marriage that like Jacob I entered.
Perhaps she’s right, and I am self-centered.
“Beauty is skin deep,” the wise men have said.
I’ve seen what lies ‘neath the skin of the dead,
And it’s no muse for composing sonnets
To gorgeous dames whose hair’s trapped in bonnets.
If I e’er o’ercome the sight of her skin,
I’ll find a beautiful witch trapped within.
When I looked on her, I saw that without
The beauty of ages o’er her did sprout;
I even saw ivory when she smiled.
I’d come for a princess and been beguiled.
In the end I’d settled. ‘Twas just my luck.
When I reached for the zipper, it was stuck.
The Joust
I meet him ‘neath a copse of birch
At our ritual rendezvous,
Feigning confident comfort. My
Charger neighs at a bat that flew
By just a second hence. The cruel
And heartless Sable Knight would soon
Arrive. Luna and Astros hung
‘Bove on my dark maiden’s festoon.
I was eager to join with her
And enjoy romance for hours,
Thus his tardiness upset me.
Then, the presence of dark powers
Announced his coming long before
His dark forces manifested
Themselves as the shadowy knight’s
Dread form, in whom is invested
A power much like Charon’s, though
He never grants safe passage to
The soul over the Styx, instead
He haunts his victims with life. “You
Are late,” I growled, trying to seem
More confident than I was not.
His disregard of my contempt
Was like an haughty Tsar’s. I thought
I saw him smile. He must delight
In the futile struggle I wage
To be free of his control.
With the whimsy of his aged rage
That pervaded his actions and
Festered his mind, and to which he
Was oblivious, he said, “We’ll
Joust tomorrow, if you beat me
You can reclaim your soul and be
Free finally. Do you agree?”
I had little choice, as he knew.
“And if not, what happens to me?”
“That’s not an option. We’ll joust once
More, for you’ve sold your soul to me.
I expect you here when dawn breaks:
I’ll be keeping time faithfully.
Don’t look so glum, for tomorrow
Might be when you beat me at last.”
I doubted this, as did he, for
More than eight thousand times had passed
And made my failures bitter and
Freedom’s dream sad desperation.
I knew as well as he did what
Would befall my situation.
Tomorrow night we’d meet again
To renew this disturbed accord.
But one must fight while there’s a chance,
Though it be slim. Without a word
He ceased to be, as far as my
Eyes could see, for I was headed
For the sumptuous company
Of the maid I never wedded,
For she would drift away each day,
But then, all ladies are fickle.
We made our night a pleasant one,
And as dawn began to tickle
With feathery pinks and purples,
I made goodbye a vivid dance
Of passions to recall me by.
I donned my armour, grabbed my lance,
Mounted my steed, and galloped to
The predestined field of battle.
My sable foe’s arm threw his lance
Like an Aztec an atlatl
Where he waited idly. “You’re late;
I’ve waited for two minutes now.
Not that it matters, soon enough
You will be vanquished anyhow.
Take your place. Muster your valor.
Feign to have honor, or your mule
Might suspect its rider’s a fool.”
I ignored him. My mind was cool
As the brooks we never bathed in,
Lest we should catch our death and die.
I made ready, then he gave the
Sign, and large clumps of earth did fly
From furiously flitting hooves. Through
The visor I could see him glare
With his red eyes back at me, but
I returned his devilish stare.
I aimed a blow I was sure would
Hurtle this demon through the air,
But he absorbed the shock and seemed
Like he had not a single care.
His own blow I deflected with
My arm’s quick instincts with a shield.
The tremendous force of the thud
Jarred my bones, but I would not yield.
I barely retained my saddle,
And my lance was only splinters.
I grabbed a new lance with which to
Pummel this fiend from the hinter
Parts of the nethermost regions.
He gave the sign again. We rode
With Mercury’s own swift Godspeed,
And the dark cloud passing forebode
Of a perilous encounter.
I deflected his blow with my
Shield again, even as my own
Lance targeted his bloodstained eyes.
His visor dented, and for a
Long moment I could find no air
To breathe as he hung on the brink
Of falling metallically square
Upon his face. Did I just win?
But his gauntlets clung to his reins,
And he remained, though loosened, in
His saddle. “That rattle your brains?”
I taunted, glad to have some of
My own little arrogance back.
I regretted those words when next
We charged, for he did seem to crack
Every joint in my sore body,
Making both my ears whine and ring.
My vision clouded, and for a
Moment I could not see a thing.
Still I managed not to falter.
I was sure that I was bleeding.
My lance but grazed his black buckler.
I ruefully felt like heeding
The words of my sagacious ma’am
That “Knights in armor shouldn’t joust.”
But a wisp of teasing freedom
Whispered to me that I would oust
My adversary if I tried.
I just hoped that it hadn’t lied
To deceive this gullible heart
That, like chivalry, would nigh die.
I took a lance for the fourth time,
Vowing that I would make my mark
This day in this solitary
Tourney, and live today till dark.
As we galloped to certain death,
I thought to try a dirty deed.
At the last moment I moved my
Lance, and instead hit his black steed.
The shaft exploded and pieces
Darted through its galloping legs.
The cursed horse’s armor saved him.
His look said I would drink the dregs
Of rotten bitterness wrung out
For this treachery, as if he
Expected me to have honor
Against a ghoul that lacked any.
His silent vow was true for I
Nearly flew headlong from my horse
When he smote my shield, launching it
At my body with monstrous force.
My visor hung upon one hinge,
My breastplate and valor dented.
The rising sun caught his empty
Armour and piercingly glinted,
Blinding me for a second as
My foe began his mad gallop
Intent to rip me open like
A ray rips open a scallop.
“Charlemagne, this is it for us,”
I told my steed as we started
Our mad rush into destiny.
At least he was not faint-hearted.
His hoofbeats sound our progress, and
His nostrils are wildly flaring.
Sweat was flying. I could tell not
One ounce of strength was he sparing.
The lance a dull and deadly weight
In my arm. The saddle creaking.
The broken visor’s fierce whistle.
The armor clanging and squeaking.
The Sable Knight is upon me.
At this moment I am not scared.
His horse was in a rabid rage.
Then it sounded like trumpets blared,
Though we were alone. I struck. He
Teetered. Perhaps I would prevail.
Too soon came my triumph; too soon
Came all the force and wrath of hell.
My shield is rent asunder, and
A hail of splinter shrapnel flies.
Pain rips through me as the head of
His lance plunges where my heart lies,
Through the heavy plated armor
And chain mail deep into my chest.
With the furor of the Harpies,
It puts my cardiac at rest.
The lance breaks in twain as I fall
Off of Charlemagne, my dear mount.
Dust rises and dust subsides as
My corpse clatters upon the ground.
Running hooves slow and circle round;
His helmet hovers o’er my face.
Then, he lifts his dented visor,
But Fengari on Samothrace
Gives off more light and is far more
Pronounced than his features, the eyes
Of course excepted. They tell me
That it’s time to go. As death lies
Upon me like a layer of oil,
I step from my maimed cadaver.
Vile vultures come to pick at my
Warm corpse, thinking they’ve found havre
For their scavenging lusts, but I
Shall reinhabit it tonight.
He grabs my ghost and spirits me
Away from this world into light.
The knight is cold and unfeeling,
And devoid of conversation.
But that has been the case on
Each transmundial migration.
The memories of our joust fade
To eternal recollection’s
Oblivion. I sigh and groan,
Wearied by my insurrection,
From this battle which has raged for
Years, to which there’s no end in sight.
I vow I’ll best him tomorrow,
As my sight’s seared by intense light.
I’ll break the curse of my bondage,
Ending our repitual fight
For dominance by jousting. ‘Swounds,
I miss my maiden of the night!
I get up from my bed, leaving
My dreams to rot and decompose
Like ice upon a stove’s eye where
Only a memory morose
Of water might remain as it
Rejoins to the vapors unseen.
Already sections disappear
From this strange feudalistic scene.
I pound the blaring alarm and
Recognize the demonic eyes
That bested me. I must sally-
Forth to work soon, so I arise.
San Valentín
My yacht swayed with the waves’ massage.
The stars were glistening above.
The tablecloth a checked collage.
“Dinner is served. Let’s eat, my love.”
You turned calmly. I was nervous.
Your reply was a tender kiss.
“Does that mean you like the service?”
“Dear, you didn’t have to do this,”
You protested. “Let me spoil you.
After all, it’s Saint Valentine’s.
By this pledge you’ll know my love’s true.”
I held a card that read, “Be Mine.”
On tiptoes you gave me a taste
Of the chocolates that you received.
You wouldn’t let the moment waste
Without smooching me. You believed.
A dozen roses in a vase
And petals on the bed below
Had been carefully put in place
To perfect this romantic show.
I held your chair as you sat down,
Then poured you a glass of champagne.
You spilled a little on your gown
And looked as if you were in pain.
“Love, don’t worry about your dress,
It won’t matter after dinner.”
You wink as you scrub at your mess.
“I’m shocked, dear. You’re such a sinner.”
“Come, love, let’s eat before the food
Becomes seasick or grows too cold.”
“I know the rush; you’re in the mood
To devour me. Am I too bold?”
“Perhaps, just a little bit, love.
Besides there’s plenty more to do
Tonight before, my little dove,
We’ll say that the romance is through.”
You smile and uncover your meal,
Fresh bread and salad to one side
And a healthy amount of veal
Parmesan. A small surge of pride
Comes as you compliment the cook,
Although the food you have not tried.
As you take the first bite, I look,
And we both seem quite satisfied.
You have removed your stilettos,
For beneath the tablecloth’s veil
I recognize your creeping toes,
Which are happy that all is well.
The wind makes the candles flicker,
Despite their clear, protective glass.
I’m sure your heart’s beating quicker,
But my soul is a dead morass.
I can’t help but look at you eat,
Unaware of the things that grew
In and on and around that meat.
Still, I remained composed as you
Ate the ergot infected rye
That was used to bake your bread,
And I wondered how soon you’d die,
And love could take your place instead?
My staring almost gave away
What I had planned so carefully.
“Why do you look at me that way?
It makes me nervous,” you tell me.
“I’m smitten by the way you look.
I hope you like the meal, my dear,
Though we both know that I’m no cook.
I’ve been planning for it all year.”
You seem content with this reply
Thinking it’s just egotism.
What hallucinations would vie
With truth due to ergotism?
Soon food poisoning would occur,
And you would ask for Dramamine,
Thinking you were seasick. A blur
Would come over you as morphine
And scopolamine—Twilight Sleep—
Would numb you to your demise.
Soon, with the fishes you would sleep,
And the light would fade from your eyes.
I chewed, caught in the fantasy
Of heaving you over the rail.
You’d die like Ophelia, dumbly,
Since your limbs’d no longer avail.
I wondered if you’d vomit and
Choke on it in your drowsy state.
You reached over to grab my hand;
Salmonella seduced your plate.
I smile and raise my glass to cheer,
Thinking I must look debonair.
“Let’s toast to wondrous love all year.
To you, my love, my light, my prayer.”
You clinked my glass and drank it up;
I could have used belladonna.
But deadly nightshade in your cup’s
Not meet for a prima donna.
No, you will drown as I have done,
Since you’ve treated me unjustly.
You made me do what you thought fun;
I’ll take no more of it. You’ll see!
What a splendid splash you will make:
Lead flesh wearing a diamond ring.
I might cry a tear for your sake,
Although it wouldn’t mean a thing.
I’ll report you sadly missing.
Then, with the sharks they’ll go fishing,
While another I am kissing
And doing whate’er I’m wishing.
The only thing that saddens me:
I’d have to wait till “grieving’s” through.
Since you pretended to love me,
I’ll feign I actually loved you.
I wouldn’t want someone to think
I was less than devastated
(Though secretly I’m tickled pink)
When by death we’re separated.
You were not a trophy, just strife.
Veal with germs rife obeys your knife.
“This the best day of my life.
Happy Valentine’s Day, dear wife!”
Stradivarius
With percussion’s rhythm, my feet
Plunked down on the mansion’s cold tile.
I brought you a dozen sterling
Roses, and I could see your smile
Conducting my heart’s orchestra
To crescendo to a forte,
And my imagination could
Hear what sweet graces you would say
As your emerald eyes glisten,
And your cascade of spun gold shines.
Our romance is magical, for
Each day seems like St. Valentine’s.
Music was my first, true love, but
You conquered me like Darius
Or Alexander would have since
My position’s precarious.
I searched for you. When I left you
Were practicing the violin.
Blithely I entered the chambers,
But your treason slaughtered my grin.
A primal beast emerges as
You touch my Stradivarius,
My pride and my love. How could you
Do something so nefarious?
It matters not if it was just
A brush along its ancient string.
I could no longer bear to live,
Should it no longer bear to sing,
Breathing vivid, harmonious
Life into this stale, pallid world.
With a rabid snarl and oath, I
Lunge at you as if you had hurled
This, my soulmate, through the window
To crash into the blighted lake
Beneath the balcony. I run
To where you are and from you take
Back the utmost sanctity of
My family’s treasured heirloom.
It’s safe. I sigh. Angrily, I
Turn and shove you across the room.
“Disobedient, brainless louse!”
As you burst into feminine sobs,
My tirade continues. Justice
Within my bitter heart now throbs.
Inspecting my love, I remove
Her strong G to be a garrote.
You’re still sniveling as I wrap
It around your porcelain throat.
I pull hard. The shock in your eyes
Tells me that you don’t understand,
Among many other things, why
It is that I would lift my hand,
Which your trimmed claws now gouge at, to
Correct one as lowly as you;
But the answer’s simple. You have
Done what you were not supposed to.
Remember, there’s one instrument
Alone you were allowed to touch—
Me. Your covetous eyes now see
That your life is not worth as much
As the master’s hourglass gem
Perfected centuries long past.
That’s struck a tender chord, for I
See at last that your eyes have glassed.
I kiss your orbs. My sweet it’s a
Shame I had to do this to you,
Like my father did my mother,
And I did to the other two.
What is it about you young girls
That makes you fail to realize
The gravity of my words? Are
Your heads full of nonsense and sighs?
I release the garotte and you
Crumple into my leather couch
With a thud. It’s like the sight of
Loose change falling into a pouch.
I set about to tune my G.
Catgut has many properties.
I’ll play something fit for the dead
Love now lying across my knees.
This violin has long been cursed.
Your head now rests upon my lap.
She that touches it shall die. You’re
Safe from jeopardy and mishap.
Let’s begin with Bach’s Suite 3’s Air.
What was my surprise as I played,
For my soul’s appendage had ne’er
Sounded finer before this day.
I lay a grateful kiss upon
This head of yours that I adore.
Your body’s as cold as my feet
Resting on the black marble floor.
My aspiring protégé and
Lover, why have you gone so slack?
Does this transcendental peace come
Because I honor Dvorák?
The windows to your soul are still,
Enraptured by my melody.
I understand, for Humoresque’s
Never sounded sweeter to me.
Nor has it made me reminisce
About putting your whole soul in
The performance. Since I’m rich and
Famous, I can commit no sin.
Lilith Strigoi
Our town was a peaceful one, till
Something had attacked the others
Without more rhyme or reason than
To suck blood. Our gray grandmothers
Occasionally tried to speak,
Since this plague had happened before.
But they never gave the details,
Lest they witness what they abhor.
After all, speaking of evil
Increases its demonic force.
I feared to encounter this fiend,
Since our whispers but did endorse
It all the more. A cat followed
Me with its nocturnal eyes
Now accustomed to harsh daylight.
Its gaze my hackles did apprise;
I looked at it, and it at me.
I fingered the stakes in my pouch
And went to the cemetery,
Hoping that the beast didn’t crouch
Behind a tombstone that would mark
The site of my undying death.
The chill, autumnal, rustling wind
Was no match for my raspy breath.
A raven came to spy on me;
It cocked its head this way and that.
I searched among the sepulchres,
And it watched me from where it sat.
I searched vainly through the graveyard,
But found no holes nor sunken plots.
Unsatisfied, I was glad to
Leave, for the day only allots
A sliver of the sun’s haven
To guard us from wretched vampires.
When night falls, it seems we are just
Lying on our funeral biers.
How many men had been taken
By this ghoul of ill-repute?
There must have been at least twenty
In three weeks, or I’ll kiss a newt.
It was hard to say what was worse,
Finding their cold, pallid bodies—
As empty of their life force as
Water in a Saudi wadi—
Or having to desecrate friends
To control the vile contagion.
By Jove, they’d not rise up more, e’en
By the Pope who raised up Trajan.
An owl watched me from my rooftop.
“Fie on you, you traitorous knave!”
I yelled at it anxiously. Why
Couldn’t the animals behave?
What force makes them watch over me,
As if I were a peace of meat?
Why’s this owl out during the day?
Would he eat the roof’s mustard seeds?
It’s a shame I had no woman,
For I could use her kindly smiles
To comfort me in these dark times
Burgeoning with dark wicks and wiles.
I locked my windows and doors tight,
And hid behind my drawn curtains.
Something told me not to worry;
Something told me death was certain.
I knelt to pray like I’d never
Done before, though I’d gone to mass.
Time stood still, but when I arose
I saw that an hour did pass.
I looked around. I was prepared
As I’d be without the Last Rites.
I settled into my bed dressed,
Wanting the peace of prior nights.
Somehow I managed to drift off
Into dream’s hallucinations.
I awoke, startled to have slept.
I’m covered in condensation.
I want to roll back into dreams,
But what is drawing back my shades?
There’s no one there that I can see,
But something’s moving my brocades.
A cloud must have freed the moonlight,
For gray tones showed a smiling shape.
I could tell she was a woman,
She was exposed from knee to nape.
She hovered outside my window,
Her gaze easily hypnotized.
I never thought death was so pretty,
Needless to say, I am surprised.
She materialized within;
The windows were still locked, it seemed.
Her feet never touched the floor.
She approached, but I never screamed.
She was a plump and healthy dame,
Did rouge make her cheeks so rosy?
The mirror cast no reflection.
“Mind if I make myself cozy?”
She asked with a sultry voice
That overpowered my senses.
She had made it to my bedside,
Past strands of garlic defenses.
She pulled back my navy covers;
She was still in complete control.
She bent to kiss with her small fangs.
Would this Succubus steal my soul?
My mortal mind was mortified,
My heart welcomed the abduction.
I don’t know how I defeated
The Empusa’s sweet seduction.
My hand darted ‘neath my pillow,
And the stake’s service it impressed.
I plunged it into her bosom;
She staggered back clutching her chest.
I sprang out of bed poised to run:
She gave me a becoming pout.
Any second she would collapse;
She smiled at me and pulled it out.
Then, she licked the blood from the stake,
And how enticing were those lips.
She cast it aside violently,
And came after me on healthy hips.
I trembled lighting a match, and
Dropped it to set off my next trap.
I would not die without a fight;
I almost went due to mishap.
The oil ignited on the floor,
And its flamy passion licked me.
I moved. Surely the light’d kill her.
Then, something came flying at me.
What horror do I recognize?
It is the raven that I saw
Watching in the cemetery.
A banshee’s shriek was as its caw,
For I knew it was this demon
Who’d just performed transmigration.
‘She goes out by day! Light’s useless!’
I thought in sad meditation.
I fled into the rose garden
By paranoia transplanted.
Surely with such difficulty,
This horror would have recanted.
But she’d set her eyes upon me,
And pursued with perseverance.
She changed from raven to cat form,
And claws extended she did prance
Straight through my little rose garden,
Which should have warded her away.
They must not be the right species.
Didn’t I see this cat today?
The cat gave a knowing wink and
Began bathing its silky fur.
It changed back into the soulless
Huntswoman, though she still did purr.
She took one more step toward me,
And I knew that I’d soon be dead
If I tarried any longer.
I gathered my respect and fled.
I ran across the river’s bridge,
Thinking to have some respite.
But I saw her form crossing too,
Through the mists of the night.
She seemed like she enjoyed the hunt.
I marvelled, since the water flowed.
No one opened their doors to help.
They feared more the more I bellowed.
They feared they’d be victimized, too.
They knew what made me so afraid.
I sprinted on the cobblestones.
It seemed that only God could aid.
I hoped He was in a good mood,
That He wasn’t sawing lumber
So He’d hear my supplications.
But then He sleeps not nor slumbers.
This had better not be the night
In which He decided to try.
I glanced back at my predator
Who’d changed into an owl to fly.
She’s been stalking me all day long;
I’m sure then she’ll stalk me all night.
Night saw the prey and predator,
And they were both engaged in flight.
Reaching the cathedral at last,
I yell, “This is dedicated!”
I knew she couldn’t enter in.
I’d never appreciated
Holy ground so much until now.
Is she tugging there at the door?
She has profaned its sanctity!
I cause Holy Water to soar
Through the air and it drenches her.
The moments pass by like a dream.
She’s clutching at her face wildly,
And as she screams I look for steam.
I saw none but heard her crying.
Then, I saw she was mocking me.
Not even Holy Water helps!
I dashed to grab a rosary.
As I turned to wield my weapon,
She laughed. Her hands slipped round my throat.
I knew that shortly I would be
An offering to make her bloat.
“Did you really think that would work?”
She asked lifting me in the air.
Below me candles burn to saints
Who could not answer my last prayer.
The giant crucifix’s crown
Of thorns is equal with my head.
She looks at me and smiles sweetly.
“No one needs to mourn for the dead,”
She said, and the words gave me chills.
“For the living are who suffer.”
“Please, release me,” I cried. But she
Decided to hold me rougher.
“Do you now believe in folklore
You deigned since you believe in God?”
Her lips were close to mine. I shook,
But I somehow managed to nod.
“I have tried everything,” I said
Trying to stall this revenant
From feasting. “How can I beat you?”
“The answer simply is, ‘You can’t.'”
I saw slumping priests in stained glass
Alcoves watching me in their death.
I was paralyzed by horror;
My neck could feel her vampire breath.
Vetala
You think that my heart is cold;
Have you thought to ask why?
My heart is but fullerite.
Vengeance is my ally.
I was crazy for your love.
I loved your affection.
But I became more insane
At the first detection
Of your villainous treason.
Hate was an infection.
I caught him. In the tussle
My spirit left its dorms,
Evicted to seek a place
In its bodiless form.
You knew that I’d seek revenge,
Despite my Atman’s karma.
Under these circumstances
I’ll ignore the Dharma.
How can I be standing here?
This corpse should be rotten.
Cadavers don’t rot when they’re
Of my power begotten.
You marvel at my tattoos?
They’re burned into my skin.
I had to rid my presence
Of worms wriggling within.
My sockets have no eyeballs,
Because I went insane
And gouged them out with my nails.
They were a meal arcane.
You think these holes can’t see you;
But, if it’s all the same,
They’re far from blind or empty,
For they are lit with flame.
They can see through anything.
Your spirit has black spots.
It pierces me to think that
Once I cherished you lots.
Seeing all, I see that you
Never cared about me.
I was just a trifling thing
You liked infrequently.
I’m here to do some mischief;
I’ve been drawn by your musks.
Do not fear for your lover,
His ribs are now my tusks.
I crushed them, sending pieces
Into his lungs and heart.
Ere he died he knew my name.
I ripped his chest apart.
With his broken ribs I gashed
His precious face to shreds.
It doesn’t matter, for you
Would never kiss the dead,
And I’ll have no kiss from you.
Why do you stare at my head?
Is it because there’s no hair?
I scalped the whole mess off.
What’s left’s a bleeding abscess.
I’ve ne’er been one for boffs,
But this joke is so precious
To see you trembling there
Aghast at your bald man
Who later scalped his hair.
Why, darling you always said
You liked a man who’s bald.
Why does my sight frighten you?
You’d think your heart had stalled.
But that it will soon enough.
You’ll meet my sharpened ribs’ tusks
That will take off your skin like
Fresh corn’s silky husks.
There’s no mantra to save you
From the forces trapped in
The hideous, moribund
Corpse I take refuge in.
Should you even attempt it,
Another one I’ll take.
For I won’t be satisfied
Until your neck I break.
Soon I’ll leave this body
When my mischief has spread,
And Fate finds you dismembered,
Mangled up, maimed, and dead.
The Narcissist’s Fate
I asked my love to stay with me,
Because dusk would soon bring the night.
But she wouldn’t understand how
Grave at gloaming was her plight.
For I had lost another love
As the moon began soaring high.
I couldn’t rush to protect her
Because a curséd soul am I.
For when the dusk melts away in
The firm, unyielding grasp of night,
Satan has me in his power,
And I’m a weakling of a wight.
Yea, with day’s light ebbs my strength, and
I am condemned that I should die,
If I should ever venture out
Beneath the moon’s all-watchful eye.
I am no vampire nor werewolf.
Indeed, I am not nocturnal,
For no creature of the night’s
Received a hex so infernal.
For a witch’s spell’s bound to me
For rejecting her advances,
That now by night shall perish all
Of my flings and true romances.
I should have seen her as she was,
The soul that’s jealously cursed me
That I might never have true love,
To remain dreadful and lonely.
But how can I tell my love
That she is in mortal danger?
For every second she stays here
She thinks I’m a little stranger.
Perhaps she believes that my pleas
But mask my carnal appetite.
Since she won’t be entreated, I
Tell her, “Make haste while there’s still light.”
I know now as I close the door
That I may never again see
The vision I was wont to hold
Like an angel in Jubilee.
On the morrow I rise early,
Hoping against my hope I’d see
Her whole and healthy like heralds
Welcome banners with fleur-de-lis.
“Isn’t it strange,” the healer said,
Lancing away at rancid boils,
“That the troll has taken her so
Quickly that all her beauty spoils?
He’s given her pneumonia, too.
I’ll have to bleed the monster out.”
As he slit her arms green blood oozed
Like slime from a clogged water spout.
“You’d better call a priest in, son,
To give her the Extreme Unction.
I’m not sure how much longer her
Body’ll be able to function.”
With the anguish of the guilty,
I ran to find our local friar.
But I found the abbey empty
Because he’d traveled from our shire.
And now my lovely love suffers,
And she’ll die without the Last Rites.
The witch has hindered her soul’s fate,
Just like my happiness she blights.
They take her corpse far out of town
With neither rosemary nor sage
To douse the smell nor flowers to
Line her grave. Nothing will assuage
My filthy conscience nor the rage
That reins supreme now in my breast;
It’s the witch’s fault that her heart’s
Stationary within her chest.
I dread to think of wooing
This cruel witch whose heart is pitch black,
But that might be the only way
To get vengeance and freedom back.
I will go down to her grotto.
I’ll court this wicked witch from hell,
And soon enough I’ll be released
From the taint of this hellspawn’s spell.
“Finally come for me, love?”
Questioned the sorceress’s croon,
As she looked up from where she sat
Eating the brains of a baboon.
“I have, my lady,” I answered.
“I knew eventually this day
Would come, and though warts cover my
Skin, you would look the other way.”
“What has happened to your beauty?”
She replied, “Magic has its price.
Looks are a petty sacrifice
For power,” She said scratching lice.
“You’ve heard the rumor, and it’s true,
That a witch must give demons suck.
They latch on my warts and feast on
My beauty like it were a duck,
And when they have drained all of it,
They then feed on my emotions.
But I take from them the art of
Runes, mysticism, and potions.”
A zealous light glowed in her eye;
Insanity rotted her mind.
The delirium of black arts
Had her once pure soul much maligned.
Once she was considered pretty;
She doted on my every wish.
But she would never have my heart,
Since I had given it to Trish.
“Then shall we try our love anew?”
She asked, never fearing that worse
Would chance. “I’d like that, but I
Can’t love someone who does me curse.”
“Give your word that you’ll love me, should
I now release you from the spell.”
“You have it and my heart.” This vow
Later made me fain be in hell.
As soon as her incantation
My previous enchantment broke,
She rushed to my arms for a hug
She ne’er received, for I did choke
Her with all the vengeance
Pent up inside from my losses.
When she stopped flailing, I released.
She collapsed atop the mosses
That covered the dank floor where she
Had taken refuge in despair.
Her body began to smolder;
There was a violent blast of air.
And though she’d died, her words echoed
Deep within my mind, “Man that I
Loved, though thou hast no feelings or
Compassion in thy heart or eye,
Thou shalt no longer have body
Or form, thou narcissistic wretch,
Now never shall thy sinister
Looks another fragile heart catch.
Love shall never more be thine, and
Never again shall thy lips kiss.
Thou shalt live forever as thou
Art; thou shalt never have true bliss.
Thou shalt be a shadow of a
Man, a shade that cannot expire,
For thou wast not able to love.
Only those who love can retire
To the realms of the dead, for they
Are the only ones who lived. Thou
Never hadst true love, thus ne’er
Lived. There is no hope for thee now.
Thou shalt be without a love to
Love thee, without a true warm vein.
Thou hast caused me to be a witch,
Ergo, thou must now go insane.
Thou shalt surely pass from one form
To another, and e’er exist
Without life, death, pleasure, and love;
And on shadows shalt thou subsist.
Thou shalt ne’er have company in
Hell, where I belong for my crimes.
But Hell shall be more pleasant than
Thy “life,” as thou shalt see betimes.
It pains me, and I repent for
‘Twas not the girls’ fault thou didst pine
For their affection and spurn mine.
They did nothing; the fault is thine.
Guilt harrows my soul for having
E’er those innocents afflicted
With plague and ague and death, and not
Having thine own neck constricted.
Thy vanity caused me to be
A witch and brought this curse on all
Of us—your girls, yourself, and me.
Thy pride hast engineered our fall.
Thus thou shalt pass eternity
Alone and unable to die.
Thou shalt be a mere figment, an
Imagination of the eye.”
As the wind and her words faded,
My form began to melt away.
In trembling horror I became
A shadow cursed to ne’er see day.
There were others I had courted
Before, but they forgot my name.
The society I once loved
Never looked upon me again,
For they saw only a shadow
That tickled their cursed memory.
I would haunt forever without
Love’s blessings. I was emery,
And daylight was my cruel torture
That kept me from having free reign
Of motion. By night I traveled,
Seeking beauties in my domain.
Through the darkness I would creep to
Their beds and stoop to give a kiss.
But my presence they would sense, and
Their lamps would seek what was amiss.
My victims kept the witch’s curse
In efficacy alway.
It’s a shame; I was quite handsome
Before she took my form away.
We’ve Been Waiting
How long has it been since I’ve come
To this town that was once my home?
Have six years really passed away?
It feels just like it were a day.
The lightning illuminated
This settlement so sedated.
I wonder if it’s me that’s changed,
Or this town from which I’m estranged.
I presume we are both guilty,
Surely that’s why it’s so ghostly.
The Sawyer’s roof has fallen in.
Most homes don’t seem to be lived in.
No steam is rising from the mill
That several city blocks does fill.
Broken glass marks where windows were.
I thought I saw a darting blur.
But no one seems to move about,
And all the power has gone out.
But that’s nothing more than this storm.
It’s time to find that ever warm
Greeting I know I will receive
From mom and dad, for I believe
That they’ll be shocked by my surprise
Visit. My how time quickly flies.
Have the pears ripened in the grove?
What feast’s mom cooking on the stove?
Will dad be sitting in his chair?
Is there less color in their hair?
Have their glasses grown much thicker?
Do they still playfully bicker?
Has mom done more embroidery?
Does dad still play the lottery?
A million questions, maybe more,
Followed me till I reached their door.
The lights were out, and no one came
To the door. I called them by name
As I entered. This door’d never
Been locked in my whole life. Howe’er,
No one responded to my calls.
I wandered through the dusty halls,
Groping and fumbling in the dark.
No one was home; the air was stark
And musty. Where would they have gone?
I wandered to the telephone
Where I’d called them the week before.
As I reached it, I heard a door
Bang shut, though it could have been a
Shutter. I asked, “Who’s there?” Dismay
Was my only reply. I picked
Up the receiver. Something clicked
In the hall, and I turned my head,
Realizing that the line was dead.
The storm must have knocked out the lines.
There was the sound of a fork’s tines
Screeching down a metal surface.
I rushed to see what was the fuss.
But there was nothing I could see,
Since the light was obscurity.
I sought the kerosene lantern,
And as the wick began to burn
I was grateful to have the light,
Since darkness can produce a fright
Of harmless shadows and nonsense,
Despite your age or competence.
Great solace comes from believing
In naught because you see nothing.
My valor came by lantern fire
And convinced my mind to inquire
Into the noises heard of late,
Though my heart would fain liquidate
Its assets while it’s still ahead.
I scoffed at my ungainly dread,
And walked about my old dwelling
To spite Phobos for its swelling.
Though the light played tricks with my eyes,
I unmasked the dark’s each disguise.
There was nothing lurking about.
I decided to wait them out.
They’d return perhaps tomorrow.
Tired, I went upstairs to borrow
The room which I had occupied
When as a lad I did reside
Here. A lightning bolt told me the
Room was empty, the bed neatly
Made, like an oyster dredged from the
Sea to rip apart messily.
I set the light on the dresser
Old as Edward the Confessor.
Lying down in lilac perfume,
Nature called me from the bathroom.
Intent that I would not betray
Its confidence, I made my way
Down the corridor to its door.
The darkness hid the changed decor
That mom had mentioned months ago.
A sudden gust of wind did blow,
Turning the flame into a glow
That died, making the pitch pall grow.
Did it suffer from some malaise?
Then, chillbumps on my flesh did raise,
And my hair stood on its end
As terror began to descend
On me. I didn’t understand,
Till I saw a dark figure stand
Directly in front of my face.
My feet seemed bolted fast in place.
I knew that this must be a ghost.
To my soul it gave quick riposte,
“My son, we’ve waited long for you.”
“Dad?” I thought, ‘Is this really you?’
The door slammed behind me and locked;
My escape route had now been blocked.
He lifted me from off my feet;
Forcefully he began to beat
Me ‘gainst the walls. The mirror broke.
Ethereal fingers did choke
Me. I’m sure that my neck was bruised,
I blacked out as the pain suffused
Through my body. When I came to,
All that I could smell was mildew.
Rising carefully to my feet,
I wondered what ghost would then greet
Me. Why had dad been so violent?
It must be a malevolent
Spirit and not him, because he
Always acted pacifically.
What had happened to my parents?
They’d never been so aberrant.
Had this home and whole town been cursed?
I couldn’t help but fear the worst.
Has he really locked me in my
Closet? This would be no Versailles
Where I’d wait for impending doom.
I made too much noise in the gloom
As I burst through the slatted door.
The ghost returned with many more.
They advanced from the window’s side,
Calling for my blood and hide.
As the door closed, I bolted through.
Downstairs I could smell mom’s beef stew,
But I had no appetite now.
I would be in it anyhow.
Leaping down the stairs franticly,
Mom’s fine China crashed into me.
Papers flew in a tempest’s gust,
Scorching me when they would combust
On contact. My singed hair reeked. Dim
Pain gave way to adrenaline.
I could hear the chairs as they slid
Intensely. Running like I did
When I was a kid, I reached
The hall. It seems a banshee screeched,
But I held quickly to my soul.
Where I’d just stood there was a hole.
The wall was riddled with mom’s knives.
I was a cat with fewer lives.
The grandfather clock doubled me
Over, but I arose to flee.
The front door was getting close, and
Then I was pinned by a book stand.
“Why are you running from us, son?”
He asked, like Attila the Hun
Gazing on the Roman Empire
Or Gaul as he set them afire,
Confused at why they squirmed about
With their hideous screams and shouts.
“Aren’t you happy to see your dad?
We gave you everything you had.
Now, there’s one thing that you can give
To us so that we too may live.”
I was too horrified to speak,
And I heard the wall begin to creak.
Where one knife was lodged deep in the
Wall, it struggled to become free.
Trapped by the shelf and mesmerized
By its movements, I realized
That I would never leave this home,
Despite the fact that I was grown.
The spirits advanced, and the knife
Flew at me. I fainted. My life
Would have surely come to an end.
The pain woke me, since I’d been skinned
On my legs, arms, and abdomen.
Nothing within my blurry ken
Could I see besides mom’s stew pot.
It was boiling, but I could not
Discern what was cooking inside.
I feared that it would be my hide.
There were no ghosts that I could see,
So I ran away to be free
From the place that had enslaved me
With bonds so violent and ghostly.
The front door’s handle wouldn’t turn.
It was never locked! Fear did burn
Within me, thus I jumped right through
The window, glass and all, into
The sick birth of a twisted dawn.
I had no time to hurt or fawn
About, for shapes did appear
On the porch of the house once dear
To me for childhood’s sake. They chased
Me slowly until dawn erased
Their figures, and I had returned
To a world where spirits sojourn
As spectators without power.
The old ghost town seemed to glower
At me as I hobbled away.
Though atheist, I felt to pray.
The phenomenon that I’d seen
Had changed my view of everything.
As I approached the bus stop, there
Was a faint rustling in the air.
I could almost hear my name called,
As the words touched me, they did scald
My body’s many open wounds.
My ankle was just then harpooned
By a fist clutching from the ground.
Their grave sites I seemed to have found.
I tried to kick the dead hand off,
But I just heard a sandy scoff.
Many are rising from the soil,
Hoping that they might later boil
My flesh that they might feed on me.
Like a voracious wolf pack prowls,
They circle me. I hear their growls.
A slimy fiend steps from the pack
Whose recognition makes me back
Away in fear. This perfidy
Must be the greatest tragedy,
For my decaying mom stood there.
“Son, you shall not go anywhere.”
“But mom, I thought that you loved me.”
She replied, “‘Memento mori.’
What did old Zachariah say
About families in our day?”
My heart sank like a boat anchor
Since families were to canker
By rancor, and love would perish
Since parents no longer’d cherish
Their inheritance of the Lord,
Which they would run through with the sword.
Years ago mom was perplexed how
This could be. She seemed not so now.
“Why do you seek to eat my flesh?”
“Because your meat is pure and fresh.”
I looked at her bewilderedly,
As cold flesh grabs me hungrily.
I’m trapped by the inhumanly
Who dismember me eagerly.
My ghost looks on curiously,
For I can no longer feel pain.
Am I dreaming? Am I insane?
The undead carry my remains
Hastily back across the plains
Into the city where I grew
Back to a special house I knew.
I watched as they tossed my flesh in
The pot. Someone gnawed on my shin,
But I won’t need that anymore.
Still, some part of me did abhor
My cadaver’s mutilation.
“What has brought this desolation?”
I asked aloud, and the answer
A spirit gave was that, “Cancer
More hideous than ever known
Had ravished us like a cyclone.
Poison reached the water supply,
And everyone began to die.
At least, we thought we’d died at first,
Until we discovered our thirst
For the living’s juices and meat.
The first to die came back to eat
Their spouses, kids, friends, and neighbors,
Making us all join their labors.
We hunt around the country side
Like the jaws of hell gaping wide.
This happened several years ago.”
I was surprised I did not know.
But mom and dad had never told
Me this, nor that their hearts were cold.
That night they ladled out my soup
And devoured it as their goop
Dripped like pus from sores in their bowls.
They fought for the dregs like crazed trolls.
Then, when they had consumed it all
They all went outside and did fall
To the ground. Their bodies melted
Like summer hail that has pelted
Hot southern climes furiously.
I studied this curiously.
Have my assailants passed away?
A sudden breeze seemed to convey
Electricity back to the
House. My parents stood before me
Now in their fleshless, spectral forms.
“It’s good to be rid of those worms,”
My mom smiled as she winked at dad.
“Where are the bodies you just had?”
“They are good to hunt and eat with,
But the spirit’s truly the pith
Of being in the Afterdeath.
Though silent as a statue’s breath,
This cold, spirit form can channel
More power than you can handle.
Our zombie forms are slow and reek,
They are Creole when you know Greek.
They’re not refined and cannot pass
Through walls like spirits to harass
The weaklings that we mortify
To the extent we chondrify
Their bones, and they are easy kills,
Petrified, and covered with chills.
We slay them without sympathy.
The spirit has telepathy,
As well as telekinesis.
It is without agenesis,
With the exception so fleeting
That bodies do all the eating.
They’re necessary to savor
Human flesh in every flavor.
Perhaps these things seem unreal now,
But these truths you can’t disavow.
You’ll learn. It’s like riding a bike,
Albeit that is no thrill like
Seeing terror bathe someone’s eyes
And listening to their wild cries
Curdle like old milk in their throats
As you eat them like tender shoats.
The living are but bred to die.
They know it—look them in the eye,
And their panic makes evident
That to earth they’ve only been sent
As a premonition of what
Will be when living they are not,
To be hunted as coturnix.
A human is but a phoenix,
What greatness comes from its ashes
After our teeth on it gnashes
You’ll have the chance to discover.
May fiendishness be your lover.”
I didn’t know how to reply,
So I let the moments slide by.
Well, it seems that I’m here to stay.
Time together’s good, anyway.
I wanted to surprise them; they
Surprised me instead yesterday.
Midnight Musings from Melancholy Muses 